


testing the waters

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: "I would LOVE a future!fic where Stiles randomly bumps into Derek, maybe in nyc. He's in college now or maybe even post college, and this is their first time interacting since Derek left Beacon Hills. Stiles is obviously SMOKING HOT now and Derek finally got his shit together and is a successful 30 something."</p>
            </blockquote>





	testing the waters

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [leenyxxbeanie](http://leenyxxbeanie.tumblr.com/) for the prompt!

It's been eight years since Derek left Beacon Hills. He didn't have to; there was no one chasing him, driving him, shouting for blood. The pack's final year of high school was been quiet, undisturbed by supernatural forces or other woes, just college applications and final exams. He'd gotten bored, honestly, with most of the pack gone their separate ways to college, so when Cora decided that she too, was ready to go, he'd followed. It wasn't like there was anything left to tie him there; they'd put Peter in the ground again at the end of the kids' junior year, and the old house had finally been torn down a few months later and that was it - the end of the Hales in Beacon Hills. 

They ended up in New York again, he and Cora. Derek, for all that he hated people, felt safe in crowds, surrounded by life. It was amazing how easy it was to be alone in a city of millions of people, and he liked that.

Sometimes it felt like history repeating; he and Laura had lived in the city for years after the fire and Cora was so much like Laura, fiery and full of laughter. Cora got into Pratt, graduated with a degree in graphic design, managed to weasel her way into a spot at Pentagram. Derek was proud of her. He thought about going back to school, but he'd never done well, even before the fire. Laura had made him get his GED, and he'd taken a few college courses here and there, but he wasn't bothered by the fact that he didn't have a degree, and most of the places he worked didn't seem to care. He floated from job to job without worry; he got bored easily and in the city there were so many jobs to try out.

There wasn't a pack structure in the city like there was in the smaller towns; wolves came and went as they pleased, migrating from neighborhood to neighborhood. One of Cora's roommates was, by pure chance, a werewolf, and she introduced them to her friends - a group of harmless artsy-type folk who mostly smoked pot on full moons. Derek likes them, though; they all laugh a lot, and there's no drama. He likes that; it reminds him of the last good years in Beacon Hills. Sometimes they go to the ocean during the full moon and swim in the sea. The wolf likes the struggle of swimming against the waves. He always sleeps well after those nights.

Their fifth year in the city, Derek finds a job that he likes enough to stick with it; night manager at a bar. It's not glamourous in the slightest; just a neighborhood dive just classy enough to serve craft brews but not enough that it brings in the snobs. It's low-key and he sees the same people over and over, week after week, which is oddly reassuring. It's a good neighborhood; mostly homes, a college a few blocks over (though they don't get much of that crowd, thank goodness). He's at the bar almost every night, even his nights off - Cora will come over most nights, and their loosely defined pack have become regulars. Derek has friends and a life he's enjoying for the first time in a long time, but during their eight year in the city, things change.

It's a Tuesday night in August. The bar's got these walls that are like huge garage doors; they roll up toward the ceiling to let in as much of a breeze as the city can manage. Derek's got the night off, but he's sitting out on the patio with Seb, who's probably the closest thing he has to a best friend at this point in his life. Seb's thirty-five; he's got a wife and two kids and he used to run with a pack out in the midwest before he moved to the coast. He's got a drawl to his voice that still hasn't faded, and it only gets more pronounced when he's drunk. (Upon arrival in the city, Derek quickly learned that the wolves there had found a foolproof method of getting drunk; some kind of herbal concoction that contained a mild dose of wolfsbane. Two drops in a glass of beer and it was just like being human.)

"You ever gonna settle down?" Seb asks from his place sprawled across two chairs. 

Derek snorts. He went to Seb's oldest daughter's birthday party a few weeks back and Seb's wife spent the entire time trying to set him up with all her single friends. "Maybe someday," he says, but he doesn't feel like he's in any rush. There have been people - men, women, wolves, humans - since he came to the city, but nothing meaningful, and he's fine with that. He's happy right now, and he's only thirty-two, for fuck's sake. There's plenty of time for that in the future, if he even wants it. 

Seb heaves a great sigh and gets to his feet, making the universal gesture for _gotta take a piss_. Derek rolls his eyes and lifts his beer to his lips, eyes drifting to the sidewalk. He's got a friend out on Long Island who owns a brewery and they've been talking about making a wolfsbane brew and selling it at the bar on the down-low; what with the pack always hanging out here, they've kind of become known for being a supernatural hangout, and he's cool with that. Wolves tip really well. 

He lets his eyes drift. People he knows come walking down the streets and he nods as they pass, tossing a wave to the older woman who runs the yoga studio across the street. Sometimes it still feels weird to be _known_ , to be someone that other people recognize and _wave_ to as they pass. Cora laughed the first time he told her this, and she sounded just like Laura. 

There's a young man coming down from the subway station, hunched over his phone. Derek doesn't give him a second glance until something itches at the base of his spine and he has to glance over again. The young man's stopped in a pool of light cast by a streetlamp, face lit blue from beneath by the glow of his phone, and Derek swears he's seen that face before. No, fuck, he _knows_ that face, knows those moles that dot the corners of his mouth. Stiles Stilinski.

He hasn't seen Stiles in, fuck, four years? He and Cora have gone back to Beacon Hills only once since leaving town, and that had been to attend Scott and Allison's wedding. He remembers Stiles from then, a little more grown-up than before, but still awkward, still loud. Now, looking at him, he's changed. He hasn't grown, but it seems like he fits his body better; he stands with an easy grace that Derek's only used to seeing in wolves - and that thought makes him pause, wondering if Stiles gave in and got the bite, but he highly doubts it. He's grown into himself, his face more lean, body more toned, and - he's good looking. Not that he wasn't before, but that was always something soft about his face, childish, that threw Derek off despite all the furious shit that came out of his mouth. 

Now Stiles sticks his phone in his pocket and starts walking again, but Derek can't let him go, not without saying hello. He gets up and trots to the edge of the patio, calling, "Hey! Stilinski!"

Stiles turns, his brow furrowing before he catches sight of Derek and a wide grin spreads across his features. "No fucking way!" he exclaims. "Derek!" 

Derek easily vaults the low wall separating the patio from the sidewalk and lets himself be embraced by Stiles, his hands coming up to thump him on the back. Eight years ago, he probably would have stood there, stiff, (and hell, ten years ago he probably would have ripped out the throat of anyone who tried to hug him) but eight years of rubbing elbows with strangers on street corners and subway cars has pretty much erased any hatred he had for touching other people, especially not old friends. 

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks, grinning as he pulls away.

"I live here," Derek grins, sharp. He gesture at the bar. "I run this place. What about you? Are you busy? You want to come have a drink?"

"Fuck yeah," Stiles says cheerfully, and follows Derek onto the patio. Derek listens to his heartbeat, the familiar too-quick beat of it. His skin's tingling and he's not sure why - excitement? He wonders if he should text Cora, but she was never as attached to the pack as he was, and he doesn't know how long Stiles will be staying, so he holds off for now.

Seb's at the table when Derek gets back and Derek does the introductions, gives the brief back stories, goes to grab Stiles a drink. 

"So," Derek says, setting a glass of beer down in front of him. "Tell me what you're doing in New York?"

Stiles is only too glad to explain, his hands jabbing at the air as he talks about how he's traveling around the country, searching out supernatural libraries. They're there, he says, privated away by collectors and historians. There's no real reason, he says; times are slow in California and he has some money saved up so he figured it'd be a good excuse for a road trip. He's in New York, he says, because he's been in touch with a librarian at Columbia who has a stash of books secreted away in the archives and he's aching to look at them.

Hours pass and they kept talking. Seb slips away at some point and Derek barely notices him go. He's entranced by Stiles, by the way his mouth quirks up as he talks, the way his hands flash through the air when he gets excited. It wasn't that he never paid attention to Stiles back in Beacon Hills. He did; they saved each other's asses hundreds of times, and he was always good for building a plan of attack or listening to work through a problem, but Derek missed something there that he's seeing now. It's potential, he thinks dazedly. He's quickly coming to realize that he's attracted to Stiles and there's something there, like it could happen. He wouldn't be upset if it did. 

"Holy shit," Stiles says after a while. "I have been talking a mile a minute, sorry. It's been lonely traveling around, I guess, for as much fun as it's been."

"I don't mind," Derek says, grinning wryly. 

"You wouldn't have said that back in the old days," Stiles retorts cheerfully. "You would have slammed me against a wall to get me to shut up."

Derek still wants to slam Stiles up against a wall, but for a different reason now. He's starting to get hot between his thighs so he shifts, casual, and asks, "How's everyone back home?" (Beacon Hills is not home anymore, not to him, but he knows Stiles will get it.)

"Good," Sties says. "Lessee. Scott and Allison are on their third kid, and he's finishing up vet school. Jackson _finally_ came back from London and he and Lydia have been doing their will-they-won't-they thing for ages, but Lydia texted me last week because she thinks she's pregnant, so they probably will." He grins and ticks off on his fingers. "Isaac's teaching at the community college. Oh, and the twins left town ages ago and Danny went with them. That was a bummer."

"And your dad?"

"Still sheriffin'," Stiles laughs. "I'm doing my best but he's turning into one of those fat old cops who falls asleep on the side of the road. At least he's still eating veggie burgers."

Derek laughs. He's happy to know that everyone's in a good place because for a long time it seemed like failure was always a foregone conclusion. 

"Where's Cora?"

"Probably asleep," Derek says, glancing at the time on his phone. "She's got her own place."

"Oh, you don't need to get going, do you?" Stiles asks, looking worried. "Do you have to work?"

"Not until the afternoon," Derek shrugs. "What about you? Where are you staying?"

"Some hostel," Stiles sighs. "It's cheap."

"Come stay with me," Derek invites. 

Stiles looks dubious. "You sure?"

"Definitely."

"Fuck, thanks. I am so sick of listening to the dude above me snore," Stiles grins. Derek laughs again. 

They have a couple more drinks before they head out. Derek's pleasantly buzzed, his whole body warm. Stiles looks like the subway's going to rock him to sleep; his eyes keep drifting shut and he keeps doing that nodding thing where his chin droops to his chest before he jerks himself back away. Derek snorts quietly and snaps a picture of him on his phone to send to Cora. Stiles catches him and glares sleepily. 

They're halfway down Derek's block before Stiles slows, looking suddenly uncertain. When Derek turns to look at him questioningly he asks, "You don't have, like, a roommate or special someone who's going to be pissed when they wake up to find me on your couch, do you? Because I have been that person before and I don't want to be that person again."

"No," Derek says simply, looking him in the eyes. 

"Oh," Stiles says, something in his expression changing, an almost predatory look coming over his face. Derek holds back a shudder as Stiles smiles faintly. "All right." 

They make it inside Derek's apartment building, riding the elevator up to his floor in relative silence. Stiles stares around the empty hallway while Derek unlocks the door, and smiles faintly when Derek gestures him inside. Derek steps in behind him, turning to bolt the door, and when he turns around Stiles is _right there_ , one arm coming up to box him against the door. 

"I'm reading this right, right?" he breathes. 

"Yeah," Derek murmurs. The scent of Stiles' arousal hits him like a tidal wave and he groans when Stiles pushes forward, their mouths meeting in a clash of warmth. Stiles kisses raw and filthy and pretty much completely unlike Derek expected. Derek's not quite sure _what_ he was expecting but it wasn't this, not Stiles' hands curled around the back of his neck, his mouth hot and open against Derek's. When Stiles pulls back, his face is flushed, lips red, eyes dark. He keeps his hands around Derek's neck, though, looking pleased.

"I've been wanting to do that since I was sixteen," he tells Derek, who flushes.

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude. Couldn't you smell it on me?"

"All teenagers smell like lust," Derek says. "You never said anything."

"Would you have done anything if I had?"

"Probably not," Derek sighs.

"For the best, most likely," Stiles says. "My first few relationships crashed and burned pretty spectacularly."

"At least they didn't end in actual flames," Derek replies wryly.

Stiles winces. "Still know how to put my foot in my mouth," he says uncomfortably, unwinding his arms from Derek's neck. He looks like he wants to retreat, but Derek doesn't let him, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back. Their second kiss is slower but just as heated, heavy lips and hot breath. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, slipping his hands into the back pockets of Stiles' jeans. He likes the noise Stiles makes into his mouth when Derek flexes his fingers against his ass, likes the way he arches against him. He turns his head, mouthing at the hinge of Stiles' jaw, biting down until Stiles swears and Derek's sure there's going to be a bruise there later.

"Fuck," Stiles gasps as Derek presses his thumb against the reddening mark he's just made. "I knew you'd be a biter."

"I can stop."

"Don't you fucking dare," Stiles groans against Derek's shoulder as Derek works his way down his pale neck. "I - hn, _fuck_ \- like it."

"Shoulda gotten together soon," Derek mutters, his tongue sliding over Stiles' sweet skin. He can feel Stiles against his thigh, already hard, can smell him leaking into his underwear, and it's not like Derek's not in the same position. His hips keep jolting forward, tiny, aborted thrusts, each movement against Stiles' leg making his dick pulse with heat.

Stiles digs his hands into Derek's ribs and says, "Where's your bedroom? I needed my clothes off like ten minutes ago."

Derek nods his fervent agreement and takes Stiles by the wrist, pulling him further into the apartment. In Derek's bedroom they quickly strip and Stiles groans softly at the sight of Derek naked body, coming up to crowd up against his back. They're still nearly the same height but it's Stiles who's taller now by a scant inch. It puts his cock right at the cleft of Derek's ass and Derek bends his head at the feeling of Stiles pressed against him, hissing quietly.

"Fuck," Stiles murmurs, digging his teeth into Derek's shoulder. Derek hisses again, reaching back to clutch at Stiles' hips, grinding back against him. "Fuck," he says again, his voice an octave higher. "Aw, fuck, dude, I fucking want you inside of me but I want in you, too." He slips a hand between them, presses a fingertip against Derek's hole. Derek shudders, his cock jumping at the touch. "What do you want?"

"I don't fucking care," Derek growls, jerking forward and turning so he can fall against the bed, pulling Stiles down on top of him. They're both flushed, Stiles all the way down to his shoulders, and Derek thinks, through a haze of lust, that he's beautiful.

"Okay," Stiles pants, his mouth hanging open in that way that's oh-so familiar. He aligns his hips with Derek's and grinds down against him, leaving them both gasping. "Okay, I decided. You got lube?"

Derek groans and stretches out, fumbling with the drawer of his nightstand until his fingers close around a small bottle. He tries to hand it to Stiles but he shakes his head at Derek, grinning. "Wanna ride you," he says, grinding his hips down once again.

 _"Fuck,"_ Derek says hoarsely. He slips out from under Stiles, moving backward until he's sitting against the wall. Stiles follows, punch-drunk and eager, straddling Derek's hips to lean in for a sloppy kiss. Derek slides his tongue against Stiles' lips, grinning when he slips his hands down Stiles' back and digs his fingernails into the swell of his ass. Stiles groans against his mouth and Derek bites at his bottom lip, snapping open the bottle while Stiles is distracted, slicking up his fingers.

"Oh, _dude,"_ Stiles says with feeling as Derek presses a finger into him. "Oh, fuck, Derek!" He turns his head into Derek's neck, bowing his spine against Derek's hand, hips jerking as Derek fucks into him with another finger.

Derek's got three fingers inside him before Stiles gets impatient, raising his hips and reaching between them for Derek's cock. Derek groans at just the touch of his hand. He has to fist his hands in the sheets to keep himself from thrusting upward as Stiles lowers himself onto him, his eyes closed, lips parted. When he's fully seated, ass flush to Derek's groin, he opens his eyes and leans forward, bracing his hands against Derek's shoulders. He doesn't move quite yet, instead asking with a grin, "You ready?"

Derek licks his lips and nods. His hands come up to grip at Stiles' waist and, as he starts to move, lifting himself up and down in tiny increments, Derek's head lolls back against the pillows, mouth falling open. 

"Jesus," Stiles mutters, his fingernails digging into Derek's shoulders as he increases his pace. Derek starts moving too, raising his hips every time Stiles comes down. Stiles bites down on his lip, a high noise slipping through his teeth. Derek can feel sweat starting to gather along his spine, at the back of his neck, everywhere his skin's touching Stiles'. Stiles uses him for leverage, gripping at Derek's shoulders, pulling himself up so high Derek's dick almost slips out of him, then slamming back down to meet Derek's rising hips. 

"Fuck," Derek groans as Stiles moves faster. "You feel so fucking - " He's cut off as Stiles bows forward to kiss him frantically, his hands moving up to grip at his hair. They're chest to chest, skin slick with sweat. Stiles keep rolling his hips forward, over and over with increasing frenzy. Derek can feel Stiles' dick trapped between them, pulsing with heat, and his own orgasm building at the base of his spine. His hands tighten around Stiles' waist, fingernails nearly claws. He lifts his hips, slamming into Stiles once, twice, before he's coming with a rough cry, body arching. Stiles hisses, scraping his teeth over Derek's throat before his body jerks and he goes still. Derek can smell both of them, his come inside of Stiles, Stiles' jizz smeared on their stomachs. 

Stiles huffs in Derek's ear, fingers still curled in his hair. "Don't think I'm forgetting that one any time soon," he says quietly. 

Derek twists his head, licking at the place on Stiles' jaw he bit earlier, long, slow drags of his tongue. Stiles pats him on the cheek, looking fond, and slips off him, rolling onto the bed beside him. Derek slouches down next to him, pressing the long, hot lines of their bodies together. It's not long before they both fall asleep, sated and happy and still a little drunk.

When Derek wakes the next morning, the room's full of light because shutting the curtains was not on the list of priorities the previous night and Stiles is still in bed with him, sprawled halfway on top of him, their legs tangled together. He's already awake, eyes half open, dragging lazy fingertips up and down Derek's ribs. He tilts his head to look at Derek and smiles sleepily. "Mornin'."

"Morning," Derek echoes. He lifts a hand and curls it around the back of Stiles' neck. He likes feeling the beat of Stiles' pulse under his fingertips. There's a lot of things he likes about Stiles that he never noticed back in Beacon Hills. 

"Hmm." Stiles stretches lazily before falling back into the same exact place like elastic. "Last night was fun."

"It was," Derek agrees.

Stiles shifts around. They never cleaned up last night; Derek can still smell the spunk on both of them, stuck to their stomachs and Stiles' thighs. It sends heat pulsing through his body, though it fades abruptly when Stiles asks, "What now?"

Derek's quiet for a while, some of the good cheer he'd felt upon waking fading. That's right. Stiles doesn't live in New York. He's not here to stay. And if he was - what would Derek do? Ask him on a date, probably, because it's becoming increasingly clear to him that they're a good match. What would have happened if he'd noticed, back in Beacon Hills? Would they be together, even eight years later? Maybe he never would have left. 

"Derek?" Stiles asks, sounding a little hesitant. "Do you want me to go? I can leave, I - "

"No," Derek says truthfully. "I don't." He takes a deep breath. "You can stay as long as you want."

"I've got people to see in Louisiana next week," Stiles says slowly, like he's testing the waters. He looks at Derek, then quickly looks away. 

"If you want to come back here, you're welcome," Derek says, not quite holding his breath. "And if you - if you want to stay longer, you could. Or at Cora's. She's got a room she's been trying to rent out."

Stiles shifts again, pushing himself up to sit. For one painful moment, Derek thinks he's about to get off the bed and leave, but Stiles just grins. 

"You know," he says, "I was saying to my dad just the other night. I think it's time for a change of pace." 


End file.
